Chapter 11 - The Phantom Blueprint
For the next four hours, the underground bunker fell into a rhythmic cadence of steel against steel. Leo didn't need instructions. He worked alongside Heinrich in complete synchronicity, anticipating every tool the master mechanic needed before he even reached for it.
When the scarred cylinder head of the bespoke V8 was finally lifted from the block, Heinrich set it under a microscope. He peered through the dual lenses, adjusting the focus knob with surgical precision.
""Remarkable,"" Heinrich whispered. ""The guide bore was off-center by twelve microns. Julian’s CNC machine was drifting. If the boy hadn't forced the anti-lag fire to save their necks, this valve would have detonated inside the combustion chamber within thirty miles.""
Heinrich pulled his head back and looked at Leo, who was carefully wiping down the head bolts with a lint-free cloth. ""Where did your father learn engine tolerances, boy? A man who teaches his son to hear twelve microns is not an ordinary shade-tree mechanic.""
""His name was Thomas Vance,"" Leo said simply, not looking up.
The entire workshop went dead.
Marcus Vance, who was sipping coffee by the glass-walled office fifty feet away, dropped his porcelain cup. It shattered on the marble floor, dark liquid splashing across his polished shoes.
Marcus walked forward slowly, his face devoid of all color. ""What did you say?""
Leo looked up, startled by the billionaire's reaction. ""Thomas Vance. He said he used to work on racing prototypes before he had me. Then he got blacklisted. He said someone stole his engine design and used corporate lawyers to bury him.""
Marcus gripped the edge of the assembly table, his knuckles turning pure white. ""Thomas was my younger brother.""
Leo froze. The wrench in his hand felt suddenly impossibly heavy.
""He disappeared twelve years ago,"" Marcus said, his voice trembling with an emotion Leo had never seen in him—guilt. ""We had a dispute over the patents for the flat-plane crank system currently sitting in this very car. I thought he took the buyout and moved to Europe. I thought he hated me.""
""He didn't move to Europe,"" Leo said, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. ""He moved to the industrial slums behind your port. He worked twelve-hour shifts at a recycling plant to buy scrap metal so he could build his designs in secret. And three years ago, men with iron crowbars came to the barn and took him away.""
""Who took him?"" Marcus demanded, his voice rising in anguish. ""Leo, who took your father?""
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Before Leo could answer, the security klaxon inside the bunker began to wail with a deafening, rhythmic howl. The main surveillance monitor switched on, showing the surface gates.
A convoy of black armored SUVs was battering through the perimeter fence. Leading them wasn't Grint. It was Julian Sterling, accompanied by men in military-grade tactical gear bearing the corporate insignia of Sterling Dynamics’ parent defense contractor.
